


Dead Men Don't Talk (Usually)

by dvs



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M, Sam is more awesome than you realise, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8179295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvs/pseuds/dvs
Summary: Cops, Wakandans, and dead dads. All in a day's work.





	

T’Challa watched the world sliding by as Sam drove down the streets of New York. New York, T’Challa thought, the big apple. Concrete jungle. He knew of Wakandans who aspired to be part of this city, and T’Challa could even see the lure of it, the way one could lose themselves in the crush of the crowd, the constant hustle and bustle. There was always excitement in the air. But, his heart belonged to Wakanda. Her blue skies, the caress of her warm breezes, her welcoming meadows. He could learn to love New York, but his heart would always belong to Wakanda.

 _However_ , he thought, chancing a glance at the man driving the car, the heart was a fickle thing. T’Challa had arrived in New York, looking for the man assigned to his father’s case. He had been too busy to take T’Challa seriously, distracted and hurried, taking no notice of T’Challa until he mentioned he was on the trail of his father’s killers. That same night, that man had found him in a diner, and reached out to him, taking him home to eat with his family, to give him more time than T’Challa had ever expected. That man, Detective Sam Wilson, was now his friend. His partner even.

“And what do you mean by partner?” T’Challa’s brows raised at the intrusion into his thoughts. A moment later, his father leaned forward in the space between the two front seats of the car, peering at T’Challa with suspicion. “You said partner.”

T’Challa blinked at him. Partner. He meant... _partner_. They worked together not only to solve crime, but to solve the case of his father’s murder. T’Challa trusted Sam with his life. His father narrowed his eyes and disappeared to the back of the car as T’Challa let out a little sigh of relief. His father had always been loving, but even he had expectations, and nowhere in those expectations was a humble New York cop whose mother had been a home-maker and father had been a pastor. A small family, with good people, and good values. T’Challa looked at Sam. There it was again, that feeling he got sometimes, as if his heart was made of wax, softening slowly just at the mere sight of another.

“Hey! Did you not see that stop light? I will kick your ass!” Sam yelled out of the car window.

“Sam, please,” T’Challa said. “You shouldn’t be shouting. We should stop the car and make an arrest.”

“No point. It’s Stark and Banner,” Sam said with a snort.

T’Challa frowned. “I thought Detectives Stark and Banner were undercover. Deep undercover.”

“Not anymore,” Sam sing-songed, before grinning. There it was again, that soft wax meltdown of T’Challa’s heart. There was something childish and carefree in Sam’s smiles, and it made Wakandan flowers bloom in T’Challa’s chest.

“Wakandan flowers do not bloom in the chest of a warrior,” his father told him from the back seat. It seemed he might say more, but then he sighed quietly, sounding reminiscent as he spoke. “Your mother...but that is how she always spoke. Feelings growing and blooming like flowers. She...she was an exceptional woman, your mother.”

T’Challa blinked away the sting in his eyes. He was young when she died. _She_ was young when she died. He still remembered those days after, his father haunting the long corridors, as if looking for her, chasing her shadow. Strange how it seemed like yesterday, as if only hours before she had been looking down at him and laughing brightly. Blooms of the heart, he thought, were the strangest of things.

“Strange?” his father said, leaning in between the two front seats to look at T’Challa. “Your grandfather, now he was a strange man. He thought he could commune with the dead.”

T’Challa blinked at his father. “I see.”

“What?” Sam asked, stopping the car at a red signal. “What do you see?”

“The case,” T’Challa said. “There is something very strange about this case. Something that does not quite add up.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam said.

“As soon as I know what it is,” T’Challa said with a nod. Sam glanced at him with a little frown, and then just sighed.

“I do not like him one iota,” T’Challa’s father said. “His moustache does not quite meet his beard. If it is a beard at all.”

T’Challa looked at Sam, blinking. He turned his mouth down and nodded. His father had a point.

Sam brought the car to a stop, and peered out of the window.

“All right. Here’s the place. Look, try not to be so…” Sam stopped, just looking at T’Challa, his hand hung in the air as his eyes roamed over T’Challa’s  uniform. “Nevermind. Let’s go. Leave the cat in the car. Can’t believe you brought that thing. Are you sure it’s not a panther? That does not look like a domestic cat to me.”

“She is a special Wakandan breed, commonly confused with the black panther. I assure you, Sam, she is no more dangerous to you than the average American pussy.” Sam blinked at him slowly, mouth moving as if it might open. When it didn’t, T’Challa nodded, looking back at the sulky cat in the corner, licking her black fur clean, her golden collar gleaming. She gave T’Challa a little look that could only be described as smug. “And as I have told you before. Cats are very intelligent animals. If Isis wants to find me, she will be able to find me even if I am to leave her behind.”

T’Challa turned from Isis to find Sam just staring at him. “Do not. Bring cats. Into this car.”

T’Challa clamped down his smile and nodded. “Understood.”

“It’s the size of a horse,” Sam said, glancing back at Isis.

“Such impertinence,” T’Challa’s father said as they got out of the car. “Speaking like that to one of noble blood. Not to mention what I said previously about this moustache situation.”

T’Challa forced a cough into his hand when the desire to laugh erupted quite suddenly. Sam gave him one of his little suspicious looks as they walked into a small shop that specialised in all things occult. The woman behind the counter of course looked directly at T’Challa.

“Holy crap. Marching band in town?” she said.

T’challa blinked, looking down at his uniform and then her. “Royal Wakandan High Guard. I first came to New York on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that do not need exploring at this juncture I have remained, attached as liaison with the Wakandan Consulate.”

The woman just blinked, turning her head towards Sam who flipped open his wallet to show her his badge. “The room’s upstairs. Don’t take anything.”

“Understood.” T’Challa nodded. “Thank you kindly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Someone wanted Sam/T'Challa, so I wrote a thing on [Tumblr](http://dvswraatins.tumblr.com/post/145772619819/hi-d-i-dont-know-if-you-take-prompts-but-could-you).


End file.
